Daddy Duty
by SurlyCoach
Summary: Coach Eric Taylor is a dedicated father. He'd give his life for either of his girls, if it came to that. But Tami's asking a bit much when she sends him into the trenches of Chuck E Cheese.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Complete, stand-alone story excerpted / revised from an older / unfinished novel I co-wrote with ICanStopAnytime. Three chapters.

Chapter 1

Tami loved Eric's after-sex smile. He was never more peaceful or content. "Satisfied, sugar?" she asked.

"Mhmmm…you always satisfy me, babe."

She kissed his shoulder. He was very, very relaxed. So now was the perfect time to inform him. "I have to work Saturday."

"A'ight."

Yep, he was relaxed all right.

"And Gracie has a birthday party. So you'll have to take her." This would likely get more of a rise out of him.

"A'ight."

Hmmm…She'd _really_ satisfied her man tonight. Of course, maybe he didn't realize…"You can't just drop her off, though. They don't really start doing that until first grade around here. You have to stay."

"A'ight."

Really? Damn, she was even better in bed than she thought she was. But there _was_ one more thing she'd failed to mention. Just one more thing. "It's at Chuck E Cheese."

His fingers tensed on her bare stomach where they were resting.

She waited.

"Chuck E Cheese?"

"Yep, sugar. Ten in the morning this Saturday. They're only expecting about fourteen preschoolers. For _that_ party."

"Tami, you know how I feel about that place."

"I know, sugar, but I've got to work." She kissed him. "You'll do fine."

"Tami – "

She slid a hand over his chest and down below. "Want to go for two?" she asked.

His eyes shut fast. "You're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?"

"Uh-huh."

/-*-/

When Tami came home from work on Thursday, Gracie was drawing in the living room, the kitchen table was set, and Eric was pulling dinner from the oven. After he placed it on the table, she kissed him and said, "Well done, sir."

"Contrary to popular belief, I have many domestic skills." He placed a bottle of wine on the table. "How was your day?"

"Stressful. Another parent came with a kid to the interview."

Eric shook his head.

"When that mom started actually answering some of the questions, I told her she had to leave, and she said she was an alumni and gave generously and this and that and…I kind of…said something I shouldn't have."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

"That's not important. What is important is that the President is a little irritated with me at me at the moment. But at least Dr. Tate's on my side."

"He's always on your side." Eric turned off the oven. "Because he's in love with you."

"Oh, cut that out. Dr. Tate knows I am very, _very_ married. And I'm sure you've got all sorts of fresh-out-of-college female teachers coming on to you every day."

He laughed. "No, but I had one ask me if I watched Gunsmoke as a teenager when it _premiered_."

"Seriously? She wasn't a math teacher I hope. Because that would make you at least sixty-five."

"Yeah. I don't think you're in any danger of competition."

She kissed him. "You're just oblivious, hon. Which is fine by me. Just stay focused on football. And on _me_, of course."

"I've always got my eye on you, Tami, baby." He kissed her. "Hey," he said. "About this Chuck E Cheese thing…You're not serious are you? Can't you just take off a couple hours? Work the afternoon or evening instead of the morning? I might need to call a special strategy meeting Saturday morning."

"It's May, sugar. What are you strategizing for?"

"September."

She slid out of his arms. "You aren't getting out of this. No way. No sir."

He sighed as she slipped from the kitchen.

/-*-/

Tami's cheek was soft and warm against his chest. Eric had his eyes closed and a wide smile across his face.

"Was that a good pre-relaxation, sugar?" she asked. "Make it easier for you to brave the giant mouse tomorrow morning?"

"I don't know. I think I'm going to need another pre-relaxation. I mean…we _are_ talking Chuck E Cheese."

She chuckled and raised her head to look at him.

"You're beautiful," he said. He stroked her hair. "And you're more beautiful now than you were when we first got married."

She laughed. "Yeah. You want more pre-relaxation."

"I do, but I mean it too. You know I do."

She began to trail her lips from his neck down his chest. She stopped at his stomach, rested her chin there, and looked up at him. "If I pre-relax you, will you promise not to get the police involved this time?"

"That wasn't my fault, babe. I didn't start that fight. I just politely asked that man to tell his son to give back that cup of tokens he _stole_ from Julie."

"Politely?"

"Well, firmly. Hey, _he_ hit _me_."

"You didn't have to punch him back."

"What does that mean? I didn't have to punch him back? He hit me. Just, out of the blue, pulled back and belted me. I was just supposed to do nothing?"

She was back up at the top of the bed now, her head on the pillow next to his. "Turn the other cheek, sugar. You're supposed to turn the other cheek. It's better than getting in a fight in front of your _daughter_."

"Well I've only got two cheeks, Tami. And I used my words first. You know I'm not the type to just fight for the hell of it."

"How many public fights have you been in?"

"Two, in my entire life."

"What about that one with Mo in the halls of high school? Quite a crowd."

"Well, I was a teenager. That doesn't count. And Mo was trying to steal you back from me. See, I only get in fights with thieves. Girlfriend stealers and Chuck E Cheese coin stealers."

"Didn't you throw another coach against the lockers once?"

"That was…he put a hand on one of my players." And Eric had felt horrible about it later when he found out the guy's wife was dying. He glanced down with a frown. "Hey, what happened to my pre-relaxation?"

"I've decided I'm going to save it for your post-relaxation. You're going to need it. And I think it's five fights, sugar."

"Five? What are you talking about? First of all, that coach doesn't count. It wasn't a fight."

"You're forgetting when you tackled Mo over the table at that restaurant."

"He started that one too. And I counted that. That was the second one. The one with Mo in the restaurant, and the one at Chuck E Cheese. Two."

"And the one with Mo in high school, and the coach you threw against the lockers, and don't forget that guy you belted at Joyland. Again, in front of your daughter. Jules got to see you hit someone twice by the time she was ten. You forgot that one."

"He grabbed your ass, Tami. Right in front of me. Just grabbed it and squeezed it. You really wanted me to stand by quietly?"

"Well, you could of let _me_ belt him. I was about to."

"No. You wanted me to defend your honor. Admit it. How would you really have felt about me if I just stood there and waited for you to do it?"

"Well you still have to count it. And that makes five public fights, not two."

"I didn't start a single one of those."

"I know," she drawled. "I know, sugar. You do like your daddy taught you: don't start – finish. Although…well…come to think of it…both of those fights with Mo…I don't know that he started those."

"Oh, he started them a'ight."

"I think you _both_ had a part to play."

"I don't think so." His hand toyed with her hair. "You don't really think I'm that sort of guy, do you? Looking for a fight?"

"I'm just giving you a hard time." She kissed his cheek. "Because you're cute when you're riled up and all defensive."

"Hrmph."

She giggled. "Very cute." She began trailing kisses down him again, this time from his shoulder. "And when you're cute, it makes me want to pre-relax you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

Gracie was like a horse straining at its bit while they waited for the attendant to release the red chain that barred entry into Chuck E Cheese. Once she – and her father - were branded with their identifying marks, administered in the form of invisible ink via a stamp on the hand, the chain was released, and Gracie - beckoned by the sight of metallic, helium balloons - tore forth in the direction of the back of the restaurant.

"Slow down!" Coach Taylor called after her, but despite his booming projection, his voice was drowned out by the shrieks of countless children.

He had to weave his way defensively in and out of a stream of little chargers before he reached Gracie, who was grabbing a cup filled with tokens off a decorated table. "Gracie Belle! You can't just take that." He took it from her hand and set it back on the table.

"But I want to plaaaaaay!"

"They'll give it to you when it's time," he hissed.

He always hated correcting Gracie – or Julie, when she was younger - in public. He always felt watched. He could shout up a storm on the football field and feel just great, but have to tell one of his kids to behave in public…it was always kind of humiliating, and he didn't even know if this was the table where he was supposed to be.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said to a harried looking woman who was muttering to her husband about there not being enough coin cups, "Is this the party for Emily Tanner?"

"The names are on the balloons!" she exclaimed testily, and then walked after her retreating husband, who seemed to be trying to escape her.

Coach Taylor looked up at the largest balloons at each table until he saw the name Emily written on one. He grabbed Gracie's hand and tugged her to the designated table.

"Tokens!" Gracie yelled as soon as they got there - right to the mother of the birthday child.

"Gracie!" Coach Taylor hissed. "You've got to be patient!"

The birthday mom smiled – a tight, forced smile. "We're going to give them out when everyone's here, sweetie," she said to Gracie.

"Tokens!" Gracie repeated.

The birthday Dad muttered, "That's not going to work, Elizabeth," and handed Gracie a cup.

"John!" the birthday mom scolded.

"Well it's true, Liz. I already gave out three cups!"

"Well if they use the tokens now, what are we going to do until the food comes?" The clearly annoyed mom asked.

"Well what are we going to do while we're waiting for everyone to arrive if we _don't_ give out the tokens now?" the dad shot back.

Coach Taylor took a step away from the bickering couple.

"Sorry," the mom said. "You're Gracie's dad?" Eric nodded numbly. "Gracie and Julia are in the same pre-K class," she explained to her husband. Official introductions were made, and Eric realized Gracie had disappeared.

He went in search of her and found her climbing up a ski ball ramp to shove a ball in the circle marked 100.

"Gracie!" He put a hand down on the ramp and leaned forward and tried to grab her off, but he couldn't reach her unless he climbed up himself, which he wasn't about to do, so he just stood there waving and repeating, "Get down! Get down right now!" When that didn't work, he dug a hand into his hair and grabbed a fistful of strands.

"Another 100!" Gracie shouted. "How many tickets did I get?" She clomped down the ramp. He plucked her up and put her down and warned her not to do it again. As she ripped her reward tickets from the dispenser, he took a deep breath and reminded himself what his own reward would be. _Just focus on that. _Except he couldn't because Gracie had disappeared again.

When he found her this time, she was shoving tokens one after another into a slot on a machine. The tokens rolled down a ramp, landed on top of other tokens, and a moving ledged pushed in and out, teasing and tantalizing, promising to shove large number of tokens off the ledge into the awaiting pot below, but of course, not a single token actually fell. This was okay with Tami, was it? Training their daughter to gamble from an early age?

"Stop!" he demanded as Gracie grabbed another token and shoved it into the slot. "Just stop!" He grabbed her token cup out of her hand before she could waste anymore. He glanced at his watch. So far, they'd used up only 6 minutes of the 45 minutes of "free play" that would proceed the 45 minutes of pizza, cake, and other antics. He looked down into the token cup.

It was already empty.

/FNL/

Just to get through the rest of first half of the party, Eric fed a $5 bill into the token changer to get his daughter twenty more tokens, which Gracie blew through in nine minutes. Thirty minutes to go until pizza. He slid another $5 bill into the token changer. "Slow down this time," he said as the tokens began shooting and clanging into the slot below. "Play some longer games. Take your time."

Gracie grabbed a handful of tokens and tore off. Hastily, Eric collected the remaining tokens, surveyed the crawling establishment, and eventually located her. Or thought he did. It was another little blonde girl. When he finally caught up with Gracie, she was sitting on some bench in front of a camera. "Daddy, get in!" she commanded.

"Uh…no thank you."

"Daddy!" Gracie lowered her lips in a pronounced pout. "Don't you want a pictwer with me?"

Despite all his present agony, he smiled. God how he loved the way she said picture. She wasn't going to do that much longer. She was going off to kindergarten next year. He sighed and squished in onto the booth next to her and lowered his head down next to hers.

"Get ready!" said the overly cheerful, vaguely disturbing voice of Chuck E. Cheese. "Get set! Prepare to capture your memory!"

When the picture was dispensed, Gracie was biting down hard on her back teeth while smiling – her own, distinctive the-camera's-on smile - while Eric's eyes were rolled upwards. "Oh yeah," he said. "That's going right on the refrigerator." He looked up from the picture only to find that Gracie was gone again.

He found her trying to play whack-a-mole with her bare hands instead of the whacker thingy. She'd smack a purple mole down with her fist and yell "Owww!" every time.

"Use this," Eric insisted, trying to hand her the whacker thingy – club? Was that what it was called? But she just kept doing it with her fists and screaming _Owwww_! He dropped the club and thrust both hands into his hair, leaving it to speak his mind when his hands fell loose.

"Only ONE!" Gracie said in pronounced disbelief when the game was over and the machine dispensed but a single ticket. "That's not right! Damn ref!"

"Uh…Gracie…"

"Damn ref!"

"Shhhh!" he said, putting a hand over her mouth. "Don't say that. Where'd you get that language?"

She wrenched herself free from his hand and took off again. He made his way through the flood of children, the blinking lights, the sounds that were making his hair move almost of its own accord. He found her trying to play one of those car games. Her butt was all the way on the very edge of the seat, and she was leaned back, gripping the steering wheel, and looking up, but she still couldn't reach the pedal. "Push it for me, Daddy!"

"Scoot over then," he said, but she wouldn't let him sit next to her.

"Just push it!" she insisted.

So, finally…he did. He pushed the pedal with his hand. On his knees beside the car. Feeling like a fool.

When it was finally time for pizza and all the kids and parents were summoned via loudspeaker to re-gather in the party area, and Gracie had taken her seat at the decorated table, Eric glanced around. An instinct for preservation led him to gravitate toward the only other father at the birthday party – not the birthday dad, who was busy snapping pictures of his daughter with a man dressed in a creepy mouse suit, but the one other father.

The other twelve parents were all women, and, as far as Eric could tell from what he'd overheard, they were having some kind of survivor's competition, trying to determine which among them should take the crown for having endured the strangest, longest, or most violent childbirth. There were other laurels being awarded as well: mother to have surmounted the most trying potty training campaign, mother who was forced to wake up earliest in the morning at the behest of her children, mother who had to clean up the largest quantity of wall graphiti art.

Eric came to where the other dad was leaning back against the table of a booth, hands crossed over his chest, staring vacantly in the direction of the giant, continuously circling TV screens, which had played one particularly annoying song (that is to say, even more annoying than the other annoying songs) at least fifteen times since Eric had set foot in the place.

"Eric Taylor," Eric said, extending his hand, "Gracie's father."

The man, blinking as though arising from a deep daze, shook his hand. "Jacob Jameson. Jake's father."

"Nice to meet you, Jacob."

The men stood silently beside one another for a moment, leaning back, arms crossed. Eric lowered his head in a posture of weariness and despair.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Jacob whispered.

Eric raised his hung head and turned with a slightly frightened look toward the man. He wasn't used to men he'd just met offering to share their secrets.

"They have beer."

Coach Taylor's ears perked up. "Say what now?"

"Beer. It's not officially on the menu, but they have it. You have to ask for it at the counter, directly, and they only allow you a maximum of two twelve-ounce cups. But they _do_ have it." He jerked his head subtly toward the table behind himself, like a drug dealer gesturing a customer to follow him. Eric looked down and saw the empty plastic cup, the thin film of whitish brown foam at the bottom.

"Thanks for the tip, Jacob_._" Eric emphasized the man's name because it was his habit to repeat a person's name at least once or twice when he was first introduced. It helped him remember. "Think I can sneak…"

"Oh, yeah. I'll keep an eye on Gracie for you if you keep an eye on Jake for me when I go back for my second. Which one is her?"

Eric pointed to Gracie, who was now dancing in front of the TV camera, her image being projected on the screen. At least she wasn't "shaking her booty" at the moment, as a neighborhood kid had taught her to do – oh, shit. There she went. Right on the big-screen TV. Eric marched down between the tables, removing one child from his path, and grabbed Gracie away from the cameras. When he got her onto another activity, which was sitting down because the cake was coming, he headed for the front, nodding conspiratorially to Jacob on his way.

It took a while, but Eric returned with his cup of beer. He leaned back against the table again. "Your turn," he said. "Which one is your son?"

"The one who's licking icing off the tablecloth," Jacob said, without batting an eye, and then he disappeared to obtain his own elixir. By the time he got back, Eric was already done with his first and immediately left to secure his second. When he returned, the two men stood side by side, numbly sipping their beers and watching the cake plates cleared away. "What the hell is that?" Eric asked as the birthday girl approached and entered what looked to be a teleportation machine.

"When's the last time you went to one of these Chuck E Cheese parties?" Jacob asked.

"When my first daughter was seven. She's nineteen now."

"Ah…well this is new since then. It blows tickets all around, and they have – I don't know – maybe two minutes to catch as many as they can."

Eric heard the whirr of the machine and watched the tickets fly up.

"Can I do that next year? Can I? Can I?" Gracie asked, running and clutching him by the leg, which caused him to spill a third of his last ration of beer. "I want a Chuck E Cheese party!"

"We'll discuss it later," Eric insisted. When the birthday girl came out of the tube-like contraption, clutching a total of only six tickets in her hands, and crying, absolutely weeping, downright _bawling_, Eric said, "Gracie, get your goody bag and let's go."

Gracie surprisingly didn't protest. She grabbed a bag from off the table and took off running. He soon realized why she hadn't protested – she wanted to go to the prize counter to redeem her own collected tickets. So he spent the next twenty minutes with one hand lodged deep in his hair, trying to explain to her why she couldn't get a 500-ticket prize with the 127 tickets she'd earned, or two 100-ticket prizes, or even three 50-ticket prizes for that matter. In the end, she finally left with two tootsie pops, a roll of Smarties, a Chuck-E-Cheese press-on tattoo, and a kazoo.

It was the kazoo that finally did him in.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As Coach Eric Taylor drove home from Chuck E Cheese, he reached one hand into his pocket for his cell phone.

"Dean Taylor," came a cheerful voice from the other end of the line.

Through his clenched teeth he muttered into the phone, "This post-relaxation you've got planned better be damn good."

"That bad, huh?" Tami asked. "Were any police summoned this time?"

Eric wanted to close his eyes and rub his head because of the kazoo coming from the back seat, but he had one hand on the wheel and one on the phone and had to keep his eyes on the road. "No. My new friend Jacob told me about the beer. So that helped a little."

"The beer?"

"Two cups per. Rationed. By special request."

"Babe, you drank two cups of beer at ten in the morning?" she asked.

"Well it was eleven by the time I drank them."

"But I know you didn't eat any of that cardboard pizza. I hope you had some cake. You didn't drink that on an empty stomach before driving our daughter home did you?"

"I had a big breakfast this morning before we left! And it's two beers, Tami. Two. Geez, woman. Take your daughter to Chuck E Cheese and all you can do is nag me. If anything's going to cause me to crash it's going to be that damn kazoo and not alcohol."

"Yeah, I hear that kazoo. That's why I have a strict no noise-making toys in the car policy. You should enforce that."

"Tell me how to parent. You run off and play all day and then tell me how to – "

"- Play? I'm at work! And you better get off the phone, Eric. You've got that racket in the back seat and two beers in you and you're driving with one hand? I'm going now."

"When are you getting home?"

"Around four," she said.

"That late? Tami, I just held a pedal to the floor on my knees after watching my daughter gamble away $5 in one minute."

"You let her play that slot game? I don't let her play that one."

"Yeah, yeah, cause you're the perfect parent."

"You're a good father, Eric. Thanks for taking Gracie to the party. I so appreciate you actually taking part in the rearing of your own daughter. You're the best. Better now?"

"There's no reason to be snide."

"I'm hanging up."

He tossed the phone on the passenger's seat. "Give me the kazoo, Gracie. Right now. No noise-making toys allowed in the car." He reached a hand back behind the seat.

"No thank you," she said.

Gracie had recently developed the belief that she could get away with disobedience if only she did it politely.

"Yes _please_," he insisted.

"No thank you."

"Yes!" he said between clenched teeth. "Put it in my hand. Now!"

"I prefer not."

Well that was a new one. "Do you need me to pull this car over? Because I will, Gracie. You know I will." He'd done it before, so this at least was not an idle threat. She sighed and placed the kazoo in his hand. He tossed it on the passenger seat, grimaced, and wiped his now wet-from-spit hand on his jeans.

/FNL/

When they got home, Gracie bounced off the walls for a while as an after effect of the cake, ice cream, goody bag candy, and prize candy, but then she fell right to sleep on the living room floor, lying on her stomach, her arms squashed beneath her torso, and her butt in the air.

Eric took advantage of the opportunity to go to his bedroom and take his own nap, and when he woke up – because Gracie was doing somersaults over his legs at the bottom of the bed – he was much more relaxed. Not calm, not by a long shot, but certainly much more relaxed than he had been.

He took Gracie out into the fenced in back yard and told her to play in the sand box, which he'd fought Tami over buying because he was sure the neighborhood cats would get into it, but Tami had won, of course, and now he was glad, because when he had charge of the munchkin, that sandbox sometimes gave him up to twenty uninterrupted minutes.

He used that time now to call Tami from where he sat at the patio table. He was thinking that maybe he should have been a little less irritable on the phone if he really wanted some post-relaxation tonight – and he _really_ needed it - so he was going to tell her that he appreciated all the other times she brought Gracie to birthday parties so he didn't have to – the many, many other times. But her secretary answered and said she was in an admissions interview and couldn't be disturbed.

"A'ight, well, please tell her that her husband called."

"Oh! Coach Taylor! Is that you?"

"Uh…" Tami's secretary was always too exuberant for Eric's taste. His only consolation was that Tami didn't much like her exuberance either. Tami appreciated that Kathy had a high energy that allowed her to get a lot of stuff done quickly, but she had said, more than once, that her secretary _sometimes_ _lacks discretion_. "Yes."

"Well, how are you? How's the teaching going? How's the coaching going?" Kathy asked. "How are the Pioneers?"

"Uh…it's… May…so…spring training is over. Summer training hasn't started. Let Tami know I called, okay?"

He was about to hang up, but Karen burst on – "Oh, I bet you're going to loooove summer training? Right?"

"Uh…it's…practical."

"You do such a good job with those boys. I know. Dean Taylor says so. She talks about you all the time."

"She…does?" He sat back a little in his chair and forgot how badly he wanted to hang up. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah, she was just saying what a good husband you are the other day."

"_Really_ now?"

"We were all out to lunch – just the girls form the office, you know – and we were all swapping our husband horror stories, like how Joe got me those jumper cables for Valentine's Day, and how Sarah's husband doesn't believe in foreplay - " - Okay, way too much information. He hoped Tami wasn't dispensing any information whatsoever about their sex life at luncheons. "And how Kim's husband makes her fix dinner for him a day ahead of time when she's going to work late and she has to put it in the freezer for him and then still clean up when she gets home. And we all looked at Dean Taylor for her story, and she just says, _well, y'all_ – I love the way she say y'all, it's so cute – _well, y'all, I don't really have any major complaints to share. I've got a really good man there at home. I've got me a fine husband. Guess I'm just lucky._"

"Really now?" He was pretty sure Tami hadn't used the construction "I've got me," but that might just be Kathy's rendition of the Texas accent. He supposed it was possible she might have said the other stuff.

"Oh yeah. And last week she was telling me how you gave up joining the Dream Team so she could have this job?"

"Super team," he said. "Coaching the super – nevermind."

"I mean, of course, we all saw you that one time you came by to get her for lunch, so we knew she had the hottest husband in the office" – he didn't say _really, now?_ this time, but he thought it, "but we didn't know you also won in all the other categories."

Okay, this had by now shifted fully from flattering to uncomfortable. Kathy had her own husband she ought to think won in at least a couple of categories. And did women always have these competitions? Worst pregnancy? Worst potty training campaign? Worst husband? "Okay, well, tell Tami I called." He hung up hastily.

Tami called him back a half hour later. "Listen, Eric, _don't whine_, but I'm not going to be home until five now. I know I said four, but take a pause and don't pitch a fit. I can pick up some Thai on my way home so you don't have to be bothered with cooking after that party. I know how irritable you get."

"No, I'll cook. I'm planning a lovely meal for you, babe, because that's the kind of husband I am."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a while and then, finally, "What's that now, sugar?"

"I'm planning dinner for you. No need to pick anything up. You take your time getting home, babe."

Another long pause. "Ohhhh…kay." She sounded suspicious. "Well, listen, sugar, I've got to run. Text me if you change your mind and want me to get take out."

/FNL/

After dinner, Gracie cleared the plates, and Tami was just rising to do the dishes when Eric said, "No, sit down, babe. I'll get 'em."

Tami eyed him circumspectly as he rose and headed for the kitchen. When he returned to the table, he set down a bottle of wine and two glasses. This was their daily ritual, when both were home anyway. After dinner, Gracie watched TV and they talked.

"Okay, what's going on?" Tami said.

"Whatever do you mean?" Eric poured the wine.

"I expected your hair to be a bird's nest when I got home. It looks like you just combed it before I got in, and you've made a nice dinner, and you did the dishes – so what the hell is going on? Are you trying to ease me in gently to some bad news? Did you gamble away our life savings while you were at Chuck E Cheese on that slot game?"

He chuckled, low. "No, ma'am. I did not." He sipped his wine.

"Then, what? Is this about the post-relaxation? Because you know, I have every intention of helping _both_ of us to relax tonight as soon as Gracie's in bed. I mean, sure, you were a little snippy on the phone, but so was I."

He smiled. "There's nothing unusual happening here, babe. I'm just being the considerate husband I am. The husband you don't have any major complaints about. The husband who doesn't get you jumper cables for Valentine's Day or skimp on the foreplay."

She laughed. "Has Kathy been running off at the mouth again?"

He nodded. "Until I spoke with your secretary, I didn't know you thought so highly of me."

Tami shook her head. "Of course you did." She looked at his expression and stopped smiling. "Oh, hon, you're serious aren't you? Come on, you have to know I think the world of you."

He shrugged. "I know you love me of course…and I know _I_ can always count on _you_ …I just…didn't think you would say…to other women…that you thought I was…you know…a really good husband."

"Oh, hon," She came over and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Do I not tell you enough what an amazing husband you are? Seriously?" He leaned back into her embrace and looked up into her eyes. She kissed him. He buried a hand in her hair at the back of her head and kissed back with feeling. His lips were bittersweet form the wine, and soft, and responsive, and she broke away breathing hard.

"Let's get her to bed now," he insisted, his voice raspy.

"It's six-thirty, sugar," Tami said, recovering her own voice. "That's not going to work. But be patient."

Three hours later, Tami rolled off of Eric, brushed her hair off her face, and caught her breath. "Was it worth the wait?" she asked as he rolled onto his side and snuggled up against her. "And was it worth the price of Chuck E Cheese?"

He smiled, nuzzled her neck, and whispered, "Can I take her to Chuck E Cheese next weekend too?"

/AND THAT THERE'S THE END /


End file.
